When You Come Around
by emilykaywrites
Summary: After a particularly rough night at a bar, and the inevitable fight that follows, Kurt and Blaine decide to separate. Losing the first person he's ever loved causes Kurt to turn to self harm. Will Blaine be able to realize he still loves Kurt and save him before it's too late? Warning: Self-harm. May be triggering to sensitive readers. Proceed at your own risk
1. Not Coping Too Well

Chapter 1

Cut. Cut.

Each mark to his pretty, pale skin goes straight to his heart. The cuts aren't deep. They aren't that big and sometimes don't even draw blood. To others they may seem insignificant, but to him they mean the fucking world.

Kurt's been sitting on his bathroom floor for the better part of an hour now, carving away at his porcelain wrist. He's right-handed, so his left takes the brunt of the damage.

Kurt wants to cry. But he also wants to shout; to jump up and down in chaotic jubilation. He's losing his fucking mind.

It's been a month – a month since everything good in his life up and disappeared. Too good to be true and not meant to last, his Cinderella-esque love story set to vanish at midnight, leaving nothing but painfully sparkling memories behind.

A month ago he had been so in love he thought he'd explode with happiness. His grades were stellar, his mood and attitude were top-of-the-line and the love of his life was planted firmly at his side.

_Blaine._

Kurt takes another swipe at his wrist, this one drawing blood; deeper in the onslaught of the memory.

He watches the red liquid trickle down his wrist into the palm of his hand, grinning slightly as it does. It glistens and glitters in the light of the bathroom.

Only when he hears the distinct voice of his father calling him to dinner, does he move to clean up the mess. He stands and makes his way to the sink, turning on the faucet. He runs the blade of his pocket knife under the stream of cold water and neatly folds it, placing it far in the depths of his medicine cabinet. Buried beneath container after container of facial creams, his secret is safe from detection.

He then proceeds to clean his wrist, gently scrubbing away the dried blood and drying it off on the hand-towel. He opens the cupboard under the sink and removes the small First-Aid kit. He pops open the lid and removes a small role of bandage and couple pieces of gauze. He wraps his arm and pulls his sweater sleeve all the way down, covering the blemish.

After checking himself in the mirror – tears dried and eyes no longer red – he opens the bathroom door and heads upstairs.

Burt Hummel is no idiot, and he suspects something is wrong with his son.

Admittedly, the breakup between Kurt and Blaine was rough, and Burt fully understood Kurt's heartache. But it had been a month and Kurt's grades still continued to slip, and he had even landed himself in detention a few times. He lashed out a lot more as well. His once good-natured quirky attitude no longer meant to tease, rather, meant to harm; to offend.

Burt tried to ignore it for the first week or two. He gave Kurt his space and time to adjust to his new situation and cope with his pain. But all these weeks later and no improvement, if anything, things becoming steadily worse, Burt was at a dead end.

Send him to a counselor? Confront him?

He was at a loss. He just knew that something needed to be done – and soon.

Dinner that night is tense and awkward, both participants quietly wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Kurt eats as fast as he dares, not wanting to be impolite or give his father any reason to suspect anything.

After the dishes are clean, and the left-overs are put away, Kurt heads back to his room. Just as he is about to head downstairs, his father calls him from the living room.

As he approaches his dad, Burt mutes the TV and sits forward in his chair.

"Kurt, I'm worried about you."

In that moment, Kurt's insides are a jumble of panicked worry. What does his father know?

"What exactly are you worried about, dad?" he chokes.

"Your grades have slipped lower and lower the past few weeks. And you can't tell me it's because of extra-curriculars – if I'm not mistaken, you told me you quit both Glee Club and the Cheerios. Is that correct?"

"Yes sir," Kurt replies quickly, voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. He's panicking big time now.

"Well then?" his father continues. "What is it?"

"I-I don't know but I'll fix it, dad. I promise. I'll fix it."

"Promise?" Burt asks gruffly.

"Promise," Kurt responds, trying desperately to keep his voice from shaking.

Burt's features visibly soften, and when he speaks again, his tone is gentle.

"You know I love you, kid and I just want what's best for you, right?" Kurt nods, unable to say a word.

"Well, come here then. Give your old man a hug."

Kurt shuffles over and allows himself to be pulled into his father's gentle, comfortable, and loving embrace, breathing in the familiar scent.

"Now go get some sleep. You look exhausted and you have school tomorrow. Love you, son. Night."

"Love you too, dad. Night." Kurt turns on his heel and all but runs back to the safe confines of his bedroom.


	2. Another Slip

Chapter 2

When Kurt wakes up the next morning, he's nervous. His father knows something is up, Kurt's just not sure how much he knows.

He rolls over and stretches, the fabric of his sleeve rubbing on the exposed skin of his wrist where the bandage has twisted around.

He hisses slightly as the rough drag of the fibers irritates the raw flesh. The cuts are lightly scarred, but the surrounding skin is bright pink, each line puffy from the drag of the blade.

He huffs in frustration as he flips his legs over the side of the bed.

The light coming in through the crack in his curtains is bright – much brighter than it should be for seven am. He turns to look at his clock and nearly falls on the floor as he realizes the time. It's three hours after he's supposed to be at school. He overslept. Why didn't his father wake him up?

He scrambles out of bed and into his bathroom. One glance in the mirror shows just how awful he looks. His skin is sickly pale and there are dark circles beneath his eyes. He flings open his cupboard doors and begins to frantically get ready. In his haste, several containers of product fall out and clatter noisily in the sink. He groans frustratedly, the sound coming to an abrupt gurgle as a silver glint in the back of the cabinet catches his eye. There lays his pocket knife, the silver finish gleaming in the artificial light.

That's when he gives up on getting ready and decides it's too late, he'll just have to forget about it. He'll see if his dad will call it in later.

He walks back into his room and grabs his phone off the charger, the heads downstairs to grab some food; his stomach growling in anticipation.

In no way, shape, or form was Kurt prepared for the sight that awaited him at the bottom of the stairs as he rounded the corner and took the first step : his father, seeming somewhat lifeless, laying there at the foot of the stairs. Kurt let out a gasp and flew the rest of the way down. Once he reached his father, he dropped to his knees and immediately began to search for a pulse. It was there, flickering shallowly, but there.

"Dad, please. Dad, answer me. Dad!"

He stood up, realizing he had dropped his phone somewhere in his hurry, and ran to the kitchen to grab the wall phone. He quickly dialed 9-1-1 and pressed the receiver to his ear.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" A female receptionist answered.

"Please, my father. Something happened, he's not responding." His voice was shaking with nerves and fear.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down. Can you please tell me your father's name, as well as your own?"

"Burt Hummel, that's my father. I'm Kurt, Kurt Hummel," he replies. "Please hurry."

He proceeds to relay his address and other information to the kind receptionist, and then hangs up the phone.

He half-runs, half-walks back over to where his father lay motionless, and kneels at his side, holding one of his hands in his own.

"Dad," he whispers, the sound strangled, "Please dad, you've got to wake up. Talk to me, please." By now the tears are flowing freely and uncontrollably as Kurt continues to stroke his father's hand and eagerly await the paramedics.

Two hours later and Kurt is sitting alone in the waiting room of the Lima Memorial Hospital.

After the ambulance arrived, the house had been a chaotic mess of paramedics, flinging him questions and carefully loading his father onto a stretcher and into the back of the awaiting ambulance.

The entire ride to hospital, Kurt was stiff; the tears had dried, and his usual guarded demeanor firmly in place. Only answering questions when necessary and refusing to feel.

Once they arrived at the hospital, his father was rushed to the OR for emergency surgery, the nurses on the ambulance having already come to conclusion of a heart attack. Kurt feels nothing; he's shutting down.

Hours pass, and finally a doctor he hasn't yet seen approaches.

"Kurt Hummel?" The man asks.

Kurt turns his head the doctor's direction. "Yes?"

"Mr. Hummel, your father had a major heart attack early this morning. We've done as much as we possibly can. The surgery went well and he is now resting the ICU where he'll need to stay for a while. But, there is one thing you should know."

"That is?" Kurt asks, beginning to feel anxious, the weight of the news finally resting on him.

"Kurt, your father is in a coma."

His father's in a coma. Kurt's strong, tough, independent father is in a coma.

After the doctor's announcement, Kurt followed him to the ICU where he was allowed to peer through the glass. The doctor left to allow him some privacy and to attend to another patient, and Kurt couldn't bring himself to be saddened that he hadn't learned the doctor's name. He stayed there silently for hours, until one of the nurses kindly informed him that visiting hours were nearly over.

Realizing that it's after four in the afternoon, Kurt calls Mercedes to come drive him home, only giving her snippets of information, leaving out as much as he possibly can and brushing off her sympathy as kind as he possibly can.

Once he's inside, he carefully locks the door and walks as slowly as he possibly can to the stairs. When he reaches them, he looks at the kitchen and remembers he hasn't eaten all day. After a few moments of silent internal discussion, he decides and against getting something and continues his way to his room.

He heads up the stairs to his room slowly; one stair at a time. Once he's there, he heads straight for his bathroom and to the cabinet over the sink.

He knows he shouldn't do it; knows it's bad, so bad, and what would his father think?

But he's upset and the tears are coming back and he's starting to feel what he's been blocking out all day and reality is finally catching up to him, hitting him full force like a freight train.

So he locks the bathroom door and slumps to the floor against it, the knife clutched firmly in his right hand. He roughly pushes up his left sleeve, ignoring the way it rubs on his previous marks, and flicks out the blade.

His hand is shaky but he forces it to hold still. He moves the knife to his wrist and presses down, dragging the blade over a strip of porcelain skin, and laughing out loud at the joyous feeling as tears continue to stream down his face.


	3. You're Beautiful

Chapter 3

One Week Later

Kurt has spent literally every afternoon in the hospital. His father is still comatose, and Kurt can't take it. He attends school everyday, and heads straight to the hospital every afternoon.

It's Monday, exactly one week after the incident, and Kurt is standing at his locker, preparing to leave school for the day.

He looks to his left, and watches as Mike, Tina, and Blaine enter the choir room, laughing and joking about something. For a brief moment, Blaine turns and meets his eyes, then he's turning back around and disappearing into the choir room.

Suddenly Mercedes is standing in his line of view, and she's saying something. He forces himself to tune in, hearing only the last part of her sentence.

"…and you should come back to Glee Club."

"No, Mercedes. For the last time, I'm not coming back. I'm done."

"But Kurt, we all miss you! And Regionals are coming up soon!"

"'Cedes, you know I don't want to be there with Blaine. He doesn't want me there either."

Mercedes sighs. "Kurt, you can't possibly know that."

"Yes, I can. I do. It's final, I'm coming back."

"Then at least come hear what we all have to say to you today. Then you can leave for good."

"Mercedes… no-"

"Yes, Kurt. You're coming. Come on."

And with that, she proceeds to grab Kurt's wrist and drag to the end of the hall, and into the choir room. As soon as he sets foot over the threshold, he stops dead in his tracks. He can't possibly go in there. He can't move another step. Not when everyone has turned to look at him, and the only open seat is right next to Blaine. He feels a pang as he remembers that's his old seat.

"Kurt, welcome back." Mr. Schue says.

"I'm not here to stay. Mercedes said you all had something to tell me."

"We do. Please have a seat."

Kurt stands for a moment, contemplating exactly where he should sit. Finally, as no one moves, and no other empty chair appears, he begins to slowly move toward the only open chair – right next to Blaine.

When he reaches it, he slides it over slightly, and carefully sits down, holding his satchel on his lap.

"Please make this quick, I've got to get to the hospital."

Suddenly Blaine's hand is resting lightly on his thigh, and Blaine is speaking. "Kurt, I'm so sorry about your dad…"

Kurt slaps his hand away, and proceeds to scoot farther away on his chair.

"Don't."

"Kurt I-"

"Blaine, I said don't!" Kurt snaps, and the entire room falls silent.

"Please, get on with this."

"Okay, guys? Positions." Mercedes states as she stands and moves to position herself in the center of the room. The rest of the Glee Club, including Blaine, follow her lead, and file into their positions. The beginning strains of 'Beautiful' by MercyMe begin to play. Kurt can't help but roll his eyes at the ridiculous religious song. They should know by now he doesn't believe in that shit.

You're beautiful, you're beautiful

You were made for so much more than all of this

Kurt only hears bits and pieces of the song. He's had his eyes locked on Blaine the entire time. Try as he might to look away, each time he'd look elsewhere, he'd find himself right back where he was, staring into those damn hazel eyes. It didn't help that everyone (including Blaine) was looking at him. This was not the center of attention he appreciated.

As the song draws to a close, Kurt immediately stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. He doesn't clap, he doesn't make eye contact with any of them. He simply walks toward the door. The sooner he's out of there, the better.

Just as he passes the group of his old friends, he feels a hand rest on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting it to be Mercedes or Rachel, but instead it's Mr. Schue.

"We miss you, Kurt. And we'd love to have you back. We're so sorry about your dad, and we want to do all we can to help you."

"Thanks Mr. Schue. But right now this is just not where I need to be."

Kurt takes one last look at the faces of everyone in the room, his eyes once more landing on Blaine. And he just can't help but see the look of pain and confusion on his face. What the hell does that mean?


End file.
